I felt his shadow pass me by
That friend of mine from yesteryear,
Long gone, his bones had turned to dust
But still his laugh, I seem to hear.

I felt his shadow pass me by
Familiarity in the play
When warm companions pause to smile
As chance depicts they pass this way.

I felt his shadow pass me by
So close, I almost felt his touch,
An empty path I turned to find
And sudden sadness hurt, so much.

I felt his shadow pass me by
Unsettled in a fleeting smile,
Remembered from a distant time
When laughter rang aloud, awhile.

Then laughter rang aloud for us
When warmth in our friendship grew,
Until his shadow passed from me
To death’s dark door, alas, anew.


Marshalg
Sitting in the light of the deep, velvet glade.
29 November 2011

Born in a bevy of robust, good joy
Raised by irascible those who employed
Dubious methods to coax and convince
A conniving compliance from this little Prince.

He stole what he could as he played a sharp game
And accrued a doubtful reputation of shame,
He cheated at cards and stole from the rich
And called all the tarts on the corner… a *****!

And in ******* in a fat, farty way
He went on to run a fast gauntlet…and say
“I’ve now passed the buck to an honourable sod
Whose specialty lies in allegiance to God”

In thus doing he wagered a bet both ways
To the Devil he sang and to Jesus he prayed.
To his mistress he lied as he bedded her well
Tho his wife hit the road with the milkman from Hell,

His kids all cavorted with *** and with sin….
Then the whole mess contused like a shroud over him.
Morose and confused, whilst simpering in bed
Moans now, quite deservedly,…” Better off dead!”

M.
8 November 2017
In a wet Waikato Spring
NEW ZEALAND

Words of the masses are gathered in galleries,
Verbage is gathered in cloistering mass.
Masses are gathering to cloister their verbage
Where verbage is cloistered for masses to stash.

Nursing the words from a mind full of passion,
Coaxing the phrases to render them bold.
Weilding the pen with theatrical flourish
Hoping to God inspiration takes hold.

Legions of letters lie waiting in folders
Waiting for praise to hold up it's hand,
Begging acclaim from occasional perusal
To seeking the fame of a publishers' brand.

Passion and pain are an artists' portfolio
Ego and talent are held presupposed,
Preposterousness is taken for granted
But nil recognition gets right up the nose.

Gnashing of teeth and fingernail chewing
Coincide with a confidence fall
But the ultimate down in a work hard done
Is to have your peers ignoring it all.

A kernal grows from fleeting feelings
Inspiration holds the thought,
A thing of grandeur pens to greatness
Breathlessly... a script is wrought.

Dancing fingers grace the keyboard
Lilting music fills the air,
A wordsmith's touch of rich creation
Links the literate portrait's flair.

There tis done.. A thing of beauty
Silently I sit and stare,
Wordlessly, I thank the Heavens
Art is wrought and art is there.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
1 August 2010

Though I age with bodys' warp
Malfeasance in its' ancient walk,
Yeah, though I sag to feel those pains
A spark within this conciousness remains...
Within a fizzing psych, enthrals...
Where birth and death's transition calls...
As I exult with joyous shout
Now having gleaned what it's about...
This BEING...with its' lemon tang
This laughter...as the blackbird sang

Beneath a magic sky of blue
My incandescence glows for you.
M.
16 June 2016

(For darling Janet)

Vagaries of the Gemini moon
Your slippers walk on ice,
Repercussions of the hazard’s risk
Is tempered badly thrice.

The challenge lies in fickle fate
Impulsive acts are out
But opportunities denial
Denies your optimism’s clout.

Factor in the constant, Son
Trust your battery power,
Forge ahead capriciously
Before lunar luck turns sour.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
1 April 2009

Gone before tomorrow
Is the fellow who insists
That the day of his retirement
Is the workday he resists.

Where he pulls the plug on having
An excuse to leave his bed,
Which escalates the likelyhood
That , perhaps, he’ll soon be dead.

Because...
To lose the joy of purpose
Is to lose the will to try
And when the spirit of endeavour's gone
The soul begins to die.

So do yourself a favour son
Recant on how you play...
Excorcise retirement
And live another day.

Enjoy the flow of living
With purpose at it’s hub
And magnify the meaningful
Yea brother... that’s the rub!


Marshalg
Magnifying the meaningful@the Bach
Mangere Bridge
24 January 2011

A quandary,
How inconsequence can change us
A comment, made in passing, without thought,
Can bring down mighty empires and associations
And render good relationships as nought.

A quandary,
How we pick up bad impressions
And label them with values as we go
Until the crass delusions of a lifetime
Are worn as camouflage to what we know.

A quandary,
How we founder in the hindsight
Of guaging how our brothers measure up,
When flavoured by our own apparent short fall
And tasted in our own judgmental cup.

A quandary,
How life slips bye through the fingers
Preoccupied with details of the way
We  watch the fool performance of the others
And lose our true perspective of the day.

This quandary,
When a rain storm clouds the morning
Then suddenly a bright sunbeam appears,
It's like quandary's building worlds of complication
Which dissipate when rationale interferes.

Marshalg
Pondering issues lightly...
3 June 2011

Mankind’s show of ebb and flow
Will tax your judgement’s call
Where swings of dubious ally choice
Determine wisdom’s fall.
Who knows selection’s factor?
Why pick this errant choice?
When the oratory of malfeasance
Paints odd the portrait’s voice.

Mankind flies in errant ways
Each individual sings
In voices of a different hue
Each oratory brings?
Why judge him for his preference,
Why colour him insane
When each has lived a lifeline
Where extremes created blame?

To wear the cloak of tolerance,
To sip anothers wine
Engenders an understanding
Which builds empathy, in time.
In any case, this cast is set,
Where ever you may gaze
Mankind will seek his own sweet way
Despite what wisdom says.

M.
At the culmination of the deadlocked Georgia Senate Runoff.
6th January 2021

Another empty hall
Where, just yesterday,
You both laughed and cried.
A dismal silence
Hangs
Where recently
Your spontaneous chatter
Filled the space.
An echoed
Recollection
But unfillable
This vacuum.
Interminable,
The expanse,
The sense of
Loss.

Jillybeans and Neddo,
My dear, dear old friends,
I ache for the
Familiarity
In this
Cavernous remnant
Of Life”.

M.
Winter 2022

Argue, if you feel you must,
Of matters unresolved,
As shades of innuendo
Flavour differences devolved.
As points of view diverge
Despite the rational discourse,
And the heat behind the eyes
Injects invectiveness’s force.
When the fire in the belly
Raises tension to extreme
And the beads of perspiration
On the brow... engage the spleen.

Catch your breath for just a moment,
Smile into the tiger eyes,
Engage the low slung counter punch
With a sidestep that belies.
Your firm control is of the essence
A cool restraint... your mortal tool,
You can argue, if you feel you must,
But you’ll seem a shallow fool.
For your finesse will make the difference
In the playing of the hand...
To keep a nemesis at bay
With your level gaze... as planned.


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
5 January 2010

Across expanses far and flat
The freezing wind doth howl,
Through desolation cold and harsh
No sign of beast nor fowl.


No feet have trod these arid lands
No eyes have sought a path,
No heart has longed to venture here
No settler built a hearth.


Far horizons curve the flatness
Cold stars spray the sky,
Freezing diamonds in the blackness
Crescent moon hangs high.


Sleet and snow and driving rain
Assault in winter’s bleak,
Whilst blazing sun and baking wind
Prevail in summers fleet.


Grasses blow in rolling waves
As far as sight can see,
And cobalt skies of burnished blue
Are cloud and eagle free.


Sand grains blowing, heaping, rolling
Dusty dunes do form,
Moving west in steady flow
Sand waves without a storm.


Silent, silent, shrill and silent
Wind’s persistant howl
Shreiking in the rolling grass
No trace of beast nor fowl.


Far horizons defy logic
Something in the dark,
Huge and vague a shadowed something
Ghosts from Ancients hark.



Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
4 May 2009

Man incarnate lost to all
Whilst ravens savage hatch-lings nest,
Clamor in these seeds of time
Caroused in blood on Savior’s vest….
Callousness and cruelty wrought
By Slav on Slav through fields of wheat,
Cold Kremlin’s children sanctified
In crucifixion’s slab concrete.

Wherefore now our sage and wise?
Wherefore now, the just?
Wherefore reasons sanctity,

Scream I…..???

BETRAYAL’S RUSSIAN LUST!

M.
Foxglove@Taranaki,NZ.
10 July 2022

Times behold when twisted men are captured by their spleen
When souls will writhe in torment though their thoughts are seldom seen,
When agitation rides aloft with blunt spur on its' ****
And the hounds of hell are baying as though purgatory will pass.
Torment in its' basest form is shaded beastly red
Immersing flocks of faithful in the mind set till they’re dead,
For shredded nails and worry lines, so deeply now ingrained,
Are signatured paralysis of the breed that has abstained.
Abstained in all things beautiful, such as dreams which flow in mirth,
Abstained from eyes of merriment and joyful leaps from earth,
Divorced to all that conjures up the gracious well of love
Divorced from thoughts of holiness in faith, both hand in glove.
Baptised to despondency, inured to sights and sounds
Which lift the mind's creation well beyond all earthly bounds,
Committed to the trench of the dark abyss of gloom
Assigned to unenlightenment...The soul has left the room.

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Sitting, simmering in the soul
The remnants of a conscience pang
Hovering, holistically
To scarify internal slang.
Banally, belligerent
The would be, could be, might be, won’t
Embattled deep, so deep within,
The me, inside, roars loudly… “DON’T”

Locked within a silly song
A nervousness leaps back and forth
A twitching in the raised eyebrow
First east then west, south then north.
Torridly to cast about
Wrack the skull for answer clear
Sack the flaming gates of Hell
In inspiration’s roasting fear.

Suddenly it all clicks in
To fit together lock and key,
To slide incumbent, one on one,
To tantalize that smile from me.
Oh the rush of fresh relief
As if awash in crystal spring,
To titivate the vaulting joy
Of ego’s maniacal thing.

M.
Waikato, New Zealand
29 November 2017

When she walks past in her loveliness
Do your nostrils twitch and flare ?
Do your senses swell with passion
When you see her standing there ?
Are  you proud to walk quite near her ?
Do you feel you're standing tall ?
Are there any compromises,
Is there any doubt at all ?
Is there joy in your tomorrows,
Do your expectations soar ?
Does she make you feel exalted,
Do you float above the floor ?
Is there magic in the very air
You breath into your chest ?
Are your achievements exceeding
Your considered, very best ?
Do you love her and want her
And worship her smile ?
Would you sacrifice all
To be acknowledged for a while ?

Marshalg
@theBach
12 August 2009

Infinite these halls of time
These corridors of vast expanse,
Eternity of Universe
No preamble to the dance.
No start, no pause, no finish line
No courtship in this velvet sky,
Jewelled stars in vastness pass before
This cosmic, ink black curtain high.

Einstein touched, to reconcile
Gravity in quantum thought,
Interpretation’s multiverse
In parallel dimensions sought.
Postulations spectrum bright
In rainbow, cryogenic sky,
Now humankind, in wonder gasp…
Too insignificant to cry.

M.
On the eve of the re-commissioning of the Large Hadron Collider
In man’s effort to prove the existence of parallel dimensions in the actuality of an infinite, everlasting universe.
26 March 2015

Ghosting in the window pane
This stranger gazes back at me
Identical in all regard
Except for his transparency.
With judgmental hollow eyes
alluding dissaproval's glint
And sulphur lips so thin and pale,
No brother's touch across the vale.

This spectre in the window pane
Familiarity's warmth has flown
To shadow in the darkest night,
A vapour in the way of right.

Marshalg
20 September 2013

Conceit in lines around her face
Which mask an underlying pain
Of envy coined in terms of rage
Behind sweet smiling lips, ordained.
Within those eyes of brittle blue
The contradictions deep portrayed
In portraiture of crowning wealth
Beneath a writhing hate, contained.

Oh how the opulence displayed
The charm dispensed, the pomp, the fuss
Apparent ‘neath the thin veneer
Sincerity’s black *****, mistrust.
Hid beneath the thin veneer
The entrails churn in anger’s spleen
And woe betide the servant found
To whisper subterfuge, unseen.

On the surface calm prevails
Appearances must be preserved
Tea and sandwiches at noon
Shall on the terrace porch be served.
Deep beneath the knives are drawn
Blood must flow before this night
She shall sever dalliances….
Non shall witness sound nor sight.


Marshalg
28 June 2014
Sandringham.

Probing the depths of a red, velvet rose
Is allied to immersion in fields of rich prose,
Where colour and language do blend in their ploy
To enrich the perception for us to enjoy.

The resonance felt in a deep violin
And the sensual touch of her soft belly skin,
The warmth of a scotch on a cold winter's day
Cause sensations to riot and pleasures to play.

The amazement and privilege to witness alone
That vast golden sunset midst ridges of stone,
And the freshness of feeling when first you immerse
In the cascading chaos of summer beach surf.

Motes in the air on a still sunlit day
And sweet, golden apricots hanging array,
Amidst bright green leaves on an ancient, old tree
Where the great joy of living has descended on me.

Marshalg
On the long weekend
Mangere Bridge
25 October 2009

The sanguine shades of India
Flow in mantras through my mind
In hashish tones sienna brown
To ochre greens, I find.
The soaring slopes of massif peak
And roaring waterfall
Lead to tranquil rhododendron glades
Capped in scarlet, I recall.

The clamour of the market place
The grimy squalor found
In the gutters on the roadway
With a constant wall of sound,
In the bartering for spices, red
In wicker baskets wide
With the stench of open sewer
Causing queasiness inside.

Dustiness of sandaled feet
Robes of saffron gold
And the gleaming glow of polished bronze
To purchase, should  you hold.
Patterned carpets lay displayed
In jute and woollen blend
Whilst ancient hands on simple loom
Weave more for you to spend.

Ullulation in the air
As turbaned dancers spin
To shrilling ethnic instrument
With drumbeat adding din.
Wild eyed watchers flashing teeth
As rhythms beat the air
Encircled by a chanting crowd
With temperament at flair.

Thronging people fill the lanes
Churning on their way
Interspersed with sacred cow
Meandering to hay.
Children flock with outstretched palm
Surging as they do
Insistently to foreign purse
In urgency that grew.

The sea of dark skinned faces
Mid flashing whites of eyes
An intensity of gaze that takes
You jarringly by surprise
And everywhere the pungency
Of the continent in the air
With the spicey taste of curry
And a chutneyed rice as fare.

But in speaking to the people
I found their manner warm
And their love for caste and custom
And their cricket team was worn
Like a flag around the shoulders,
Like a talisman, so proud,
And their love for home and family
Reiterated, long and loud.

Overhead, the baking heat
Occasionally relieved
By a downpour of monsoonal rain
Must be seen to be believed.
And the total inundation
Of believers on the stair
Of the teeming seeking holiness
In the river Ganges there.

And then as quickly as I came here
It became the time to leave
And the wonders of diversity
Were beyond what I believed.
What was once a frank abhorrence
Grew surreptitiously on me
The splendours of this mystic place
Well deserve their sanctity.

Now far across the oceans
In my safe and sterile land
I am drawn to stare to seaward
To recall my thoughts at hand,
Out across the sprawling delta
Gazing far to sunset sea,
That special taste of India
Flows irrevocably, back to me.

Marshalg
13 July 2014

Tied to a point of view
Of pedantically avoiding you,
Embraced in retrenched stance
Of beetled brow’s dim elegance,
Inveigled in this shrouded glaze
These hooded eyes avoid your gaze….
But when I chance to glance, your smile,
I’m forced, my love, to reconcile.

M.

Ah! Sweet moments,
Those often tiny vignettes of time,
Captured landscapes,
Life quilled upon passing seasons.
Gifts and treasures collected
Tucked into memory's
Dusty corners...
Filling the Soul's bookshelf.

But sometimes
There comes a moment,
Unnoticed and slipping quietly,
Into its' own silence.
It will have no tomorrows
No memory to ease the emptiness
Of regret...or words
To paint upon our bare
and introverted canvass.

Which avenue travelled
Rests with the toss of the coin,
For the realm in which we dwell
Is determined, primarily,
By chance.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
3rd March 2024

Orange hazards blink in gloom
Autumn mist in early light,
Traffic cones direct the flow
Attenuators keep it tight.
Through the mist construction looms
A mighty swath comes into sight
A structure massive, incomplete
Sweeps past the Birdcage portal light.

Burrowed deep within the Park
Surmounted by its stark white beams,
The tunnel curves towards the Bridge
To emerge near the Victory screens.
Symmetry in huge largess
Biblical in size and form,
Built by puny hands of flesh
Man inspired, conceived and born.

Columns in the concrete mass
Loom as sentries, side by side,
Level in majestic sweep
Through the tunnel’s corner glide.
Massive beams locked overhead
Cap the roof’s gigantic clasp,
Reinforced by gridlocked steel
Bound within the concrete’s grasp.

Mounds of blue, congealed wet clay
Layered in an old sea bed,
Hauled away from ancient crib
By Fletcher excavators red.
Roaring diesel truck and tray
Loaded overburden high,
Water blasted ***** and span
Keeping highways clean and dry.

Monstrous cranes with hanging rig
Lower weights of ponderous steel,
Gently to the tunnel base
Led by Dogman’s coaxing feel.
Urgency in every move
Hard hats drill with diamond core,
Fixing massive panel slabs
To the looming concrete’s bore.

Well below incoming tide
Pounded by the drenching rain,
Four inch pumps snake to the sump
Ensuring flood control’s maintained.
Foremen bark and keep control
Hard hats share a secret smile,
Safety first for every man
Think before you lift that pile.

Gate girls smile at passers bye
Politely chiding those who stray,
Holding up a halting hand
With trucks inbound in hazards way.
Smoko at the Bowling Club
Murmur of a hundred souls,
Grubby in their hi vis vests
Munching on the caterers rolls.

Morale amongst the working men
Is high because they feel the cause,
A project that is so worthwhile
They KNOW that it  deserves applause.
Traffic roars above it all
Passing in a steady stream,
Brake lights on the viaduct
Cop cars flash and sirens scream.

This project has a consciousness
A Heart, a mind, a soul.
And an inspirational spirit
Which guides us to the goal.
To eliminate the bottleneck
In Auckland's traffic day
And to streamline the system
Of our vehicular motorway.

Politicians snarl right now
Champing at the huge expense,
But by next year’s finish date
Congratulations will commence.
The jewel in the crown they say
Is found within our park of green,
The Victoria Park Tunnel, friend,
Is a true magnificence, to be seen.


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
5 February 2011

Hark the Kings of twilight sing
In strong discordant notes so clear
Not strangely, in some harmony,
When tenor tones caress the ear.

Discordant with a resonance
Both deep and bellicose with bass,
A vibrant tremor through the air
Creates sensation’s crest of grace.

And then a silent pause is felt
As soft violas fill the void
And build to carve a melody
Of pulsing rhythm so employed.

A cascade of exotic sound,
A riot fills the senses loud
And smiles of audience grow wide
As wonderment entrances crowd.

With golden light of setting sun
To purple-grey striated sky,
A swelling chorus lifts the song’s
Magnificence to place on high.

A brace of trumpets catch the light
As silver beauty fills the air,
The roll of tymphoni impacts
As plucked mass violin declare…

The cadence hangs in holy light
A breathless expectation nigh,
A soaring riff of brass and string
Brings grand finale to the sky….

A raging beauty fills the soul
The audience as one arise
To drown the theatre with applause
So raucous wild as to surprise!

The orchestra now take the bow
The proud conductor so defers...
For streams of sweat run down his back,
An ice cold beer he now deserves.

Marshalg
At the Auckland Symphonia
4 August 2012

For Beep & Sue Robinson, Foreman, Victoria Park Tunnel


Auntie Elaine Kingii
Died last night in her sleep,
Ninety years of age
Keeping secrets she would keep.
Last night she passed away
In her tiny single bed,
At the Onehunga rest home
Where she finally laid her head.

Auntie Elaine Kingii
Lived her long life on the street
Helping other vagrants
Find a kinder place to sleep,
Helping other street kids
With the hassles of their day,
Sharing a quick cigarette
Or a dryer place to stay.

Auntie Elaine Kingii
In her ninety years of life
Had eighteen babies born to her
From sailors , waifs and like.
Eighteen babies born to her
Beneath the Grafton bridge,
Each with unknown fathers
Or a family heritage.

Auntie Elaine Kingie
As a girl danced out of class
Where the morning sunshine sparkled
On the crystal dew, clad grass,
And her green eyes shone with lustre
In her  joy of dancing free,
Whilst the street kids stood in cluster
Quite entranced by what they see.

Auntie Elaine Kingii
With her eyes of emerald green
Lived her days among the lost souls
Of the City Mission scene.
Life amongst free spirits
Was a chosen path for her
Shunning organised prosperity
With a structured raconteur.

Auntie Elaine Kingii
With her eyes of emerald glass
Chose to die the way she lived
Quite serenely with her class.
Happy with the company
Of whom she would befriend
In the park surrounds of Auckland city’s
Busy people blend.


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
21 June 2011

Blue haze is in the air at dusk
Wet dew descends on grass,
Sunset’s red striations touch
Horizon’s clouds of glass
A heavy silence permeates
With the settling of the day,
And clouds of starlings flock to roost
With nightfall underway.
The homestead paddock’s horses
All graze quietly in the gloom
As evening light turns purple red
To a distant blackbird’s tune.
A golden leafage carpetry
Is spread across the road
And the farmer trudges through it
homeward bound, beneath his load.
The cottage lights are glowing gold
As daylight dwindles now.
The softly spiraled chimney smoke,
The lowing of the cow,
The leafless alder branches
Stretching to a sky of stars
As the chill of late Autumnal
Celebrates the birth of Mars.


Marshalg
In the Autumn leaves
Victoria Park Tunnel
24 April 2010

Autumn in New Zealand is a masterpiece on canvas
Patternings of goldens and bright rose hips in their beds,
Copses of coniferous in deep and darkly avenues
To the brilliance of a country lane awash with leafy reds.
Chimney fires are smoking in the rural country cottages
The warming glow of lanterns in the windows as I pass,
A tantalising whiff of hot buttered scones is wafting
And somewhere in the distance I can hear a red deer bark.
Strolling by the lakeside in the early morning stillness
My breathing fogs before me in the chillness of the air,
Rowan trees glow scarlet and the naked ***** willow
Has shed her golden carpet on the emerald hillock there.
Rushes rattle softly in the mistyness of lowlands
Treeeferns in their glory of silver filagree,
Sparrows ruffle feathers to insulate the coolness
As wheeling flocks of starling mass to migrate to be free.
Gossamer as fairy dust the thistledown is floating
A harbinger of autumn leaves and freezing frost to come,
Those Coriollis forces are determining the changeling
Where the snowy days approaching means the Autumn tones are done.


Marshalg
27 April 2013
In rural Pukekohe.
New Zealand

Simple how the clouds collapse
When tangents merge with metaphors,
How tracks of reason tread the path
Then pass through open doors.
When threads of inspiration sing
As blackbirds in the dew of dawn,
Where crystal light of opulence
Then innocence and fun..…is borne.
A purity of  purpose, suffused in simplicity,
Swaddled and encapsulated, worn with a smile.
Embracing the instant of beautiful freedom
To breathe this sweet air of loveliness, awhile.

M.
The hallowed green of a Taranaki dawn @ Foxglove
9th February 2017

Pacing in soft falling rain along a path seldom taken.
Preoccupied by thoughts, perturbed by the direction of my concerns.
How, in the epic of everyday normality, the excesses of humanity at large intercede, intrude on the peace of mind. Intrude on the grace of the green and peaceful rurality, in which I walk.

Insanity runs riot in some of the most , otherwise, passionately beautiful locales on the planet.

It manifests in the slaughter of unsuspecting innocents sitting down for a breakfast in the quiescent early morning light of old Kiev.
The monstrosity emanating directly from the mind of the mania driven, 70 year old, balding man in the Kremlin.

Carnage, death and unspeakable outrage and sorrow. Both young and old contorted, suddenly, in the stench of cordite and smoking rubble. Dreams, dreamt, just yesterday, obliterated forever.

Incandescent rage of vengeance ignited in the eyes of the beholders, a rage that will endure in a livid hatred that will perpetuate for centuries.

And of course, every day now, in the palaces of Pyongyang, Beijing, Paris, Washington, London, Delhi, Tel Aviv. Iran and Moscow, old men in expensive suits ruminate, sip rare old whisky and plot strategies on the nuclear chessboard. Moves that have the capacity of determining the endgame.

The fate of all life on earth.

In the meantime, the planet, fed up with the excesses of humankind, is reacting in melting the ice floes of Antarctica and the North Pole, swelling the oceans to engulf, warming the seas to create the emergence of devastating cyclones, hurricanes and tornadoes.

Man is awakening to regions of expanding drought, vast and repetitive deluges of rainfall causing landfall and huge areas of catastrophic flooding, Encroachment of coastlines and the threat of inundation of vast low lying population areas, coastal cities and essential infrastructure, airports, power stations and arterial highways.....and then there are the wildfires, ever expanding, ever increasing in frequency and the continental choking palls of smoke.

Pondering these things, as I walk this country path in the falling rain, perhaps the greatest concern that causes my brow to furrow, is that largely, my fellow man turns the other way, preferring to put these things out of his mind. leave it to someone else to sort out. Place it all in the too hard basket.....and this attitude, I'm afraid, percolates to the top.
Concentrate on getting the votes, it will all sort itself out just so long as WE WIN THE NEXT ELECTION.

And so it goes on now, indeed.... A Whiter Shade of Pale.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Preamble at the showdown the fighters eye to eye
Droning pulse of discourse from the referee is dry,
Bouncing back to my corner the butterflies take charge
For the other guy’s a monster, like a Doberman at large.

Bell resounds alarmingly, I shuffle forth to meet
A combination thrown with steel…it whacks me off my feet.
Seeing stars I resurrect to lurch about the ring
To try to keep some distance from the monster’s punching sting.

Roaring crowd are baying now they call to take me out
The Doberman is grinning for he reckons it’s a route,
The flashing light confusing, the noise a steady din
As the monster comes in quickly to achieve expected win.

Throwing jabs to keep him back, retreating to the rope
I cover up with everything to give myself some hope
He pounds with his salvos they hammer hard and fast
His breathing rasping in my ears I pray to God I last.

Saved by the bell and cold water, such disgrace
The crowd are loudly booing, I’ve not put leather on his face,
A wash of resolution hotly surges from within
So I **** the mouth guard back and rush on out to tackle him.

Defensive expectations had him open up his chin
So I feinted with a left and launched a mighty right with spin,
Boring in with fury and a combination score
I hit him with an uppercut which traversed from the floor.

Miraculously the eyeballs rolled and disappeared from sight
I threw another flurry…but had no one to fight
Flat out on the deck he lay, the Doberman was out
As I bounced around like Rocky to the punters frenzied shout.

Camera flashes blinded as the raving crowd went wild.
It defied all expectations, I was the sacrificial child.
Bets were laid that I would fall within a round or two
The screaming din reflected that all bets were in the poo.

The countdown took forever and I swear I watched each stroke
And kept one eye on the fallen, should he rise he’d go for broke,
My amazement with two wobbly knees and heaving lungs of fire
When my leaden glove was held aloft to victory entire.

Winners come and winners go but this I’ll not forget
When fortune favoured sweetly…and I collected on the bet!


Marshalg
My thanks to Shane Cameron…a real fighter.
14 April 2013 (Pukehana Paradise)

© 2013 Marshal Gebbie

Thought about the way my kids
Will judge the world I’ve left behind,
Wondered how perception’s eye
Will shade the tones of what they find.

Worried that the work undone
Shall disappoint the judgements made
And sway perception’s jaded brush
To paint the memories in shade.

It matters that regard is there
To render recollection’s sound,
To pluck the gems of warm regard
From detritus of earthly round.

To look upon my megre works
As worthwhile in the scheme of things,
To nurture somewhere in the soul
The song which satisfaction sings.*


Marshalg
Pondering in the dead of night beneath a hallowed frozen moon.
Foxglove, Taranaki.
7th October 2012

Have you noticed how bad news arrives
In packs of three collectively?
How odours cling  to secret parts
Unless they’re washed selectively?
How luck deserts the most deserved
Right in their hour of need?
How the will deserts the injured
When their wounds begin to bleed?
How the mysteries of the universe
Defy all logics' course
And the brave desert the battle
With the Captain on his horse.
How that ******* thing called happenstance
Will upstage us every day
And the thieves who owe us money
Intend to actually not repay.
How the rot is in the woodwork
And the stench pervades the air
And your wallets always empty
Because the Missus beat you there.
How you’re feeling kinda flat
When things refuse to spin your way,
....How ya should have stayed in bed
And ****** cancelled out today!

Marshalg
Up to my backside in trouble.
23 Novermber 2010

Is it really any wonder
That we court the God of war ?
When a man offends in innocence
With imprudent comments poor,
When the slightest altercation
Leads to seeking of red blood,
And grudges borne with vehemence
Paste protagonists with mud.

Why is it that we tip toe
Through the fragileness of life ?
How is it that you rage
When he glances at your wife ?
What generates the jealousy
Of competitive bright flame
And activates the trigger
In the deadly baiting game ?

Why should we seek redemption
When the way is set in stone,
When antagonistic temperament
Is the customary way home,
When the flare of angry attitude
Leads the bearer to abyss
And inevitable conflict
Throws all reasoned thought amiss ?.

Reflect on how protracted
Is the winding road to love,
How long to place the building blocks
Of friendships’ hand in glove,
How gradual the process
Of steady cultivating trust
To the wondrous actuality
Of a brother bond that must.

Why does the God of war surmount
Mans best and dearest quest
To find a peace and harmony
Despite discords’ very best,
To live his days in certitude
Sidestepping risk of harm
To work toward tomorrows’ dawn,
And evening’s soothing charm.

Shatter prides absurdity
To dare to breach the norm,
To reach aloft for courage
And scale the unknown’s form.
To rail against mans’ enmity
To flail against his foe
To conquer human natures‘ worst
This beast of war must go!

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
21 June 2010

Banish the thoughts of why, wherefore or how
Bereft in adventures lived perilously now,
Beholding to principles upheld by the rich
Tho scorned by ******* who laughed with the *****.
Ridiculed in bathtub whilst scrubbing her ****
Of the cobbles and nobbles intriguing low class,
Perish the thoughts of why, wherefore and how
Or run the gauntlet of ******* the sow.

Perish the thought of ******* the sow
Relinquishing all of my hard won knowhow
Delivered in spades whilst scaling that tree
Of ascendancy valued so highly by me.
Lost to this world in a passionless kiss
Decreed a disaster and seen as remiss.
So perish the thoughts of why wherefore and how
Or die by indulgencies knife a low brow.

M.
29 March 2018

Soothing that we aren't at war
Soothing that the thunderous skies
Show bright quiescent lightening flash
In battle field where no man dies.
Soothing that we sued for peace
Soothing that the tempers calmed
In altercations' quarrel lake
Where differences are drowned or charmed.
Soothing that your grey eyes sleep
Soothing that I walk away,
Walked to seek another life
Where conflicts' brat is held at bay.
Soothing now the day is still
Soothing that the air is calm,
Tho now I long for happenstance
In cut and ****** of battles' harm.

Marshalg
Becalmed.
4 November 2012

Delicate poised on the edge of a leaf
In the garb of hopelessness seeking relief,
With an attitude stained a doubtful hue
Is it thee, It is me, it is he, it is you?
Purloined in protracted, stammering fright
Through the shadows of day into simmering night,
Erratically ****** through Hell holes of sound
Into that found, paradoxically, so profound,
….The realisation that deep down within
Melds the heart of a lion with a pitfall of sin.

Tangentially clashing the yin and yan
With that gross inconsistency common to man
And the flailing egos, flailing away…….
Just an utter waste of space, I say!
Through Trump and Putins' nuclear pall
Do the rats and cockroaches inherit it all?
Is it he, is it she, is it thee, is it me
Did we build this vast insanity?
M.
19 April 2018